To Sleep Perchance to Dream
by vandiver49
Summary: How does the crew cope after the experiences of 'Singularity'?
1. Prologue

To Sleep Perchance to Dream  
  
By vandiver49  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters associated with Star Trek, I'm just borrowing them for a moment. Please don't sue; people in the Navy don't make that much money.  
  
This story takes place after "Singularity"  
  
BETA'd by stubadingdong  
  
_________________________________  
  
Sub-Commander T'Pol never realized how narrow the corridors of Enterprise were until this evening. She was simply going to return the radiation discriminator that Commander Tucker had provided her. And while not heavy to her, it was an awkward and bulky contraption, visibly disproportionate to her svelte frame. Its unusual characteristics forced her to traverse the passageways with a compensating lean, bringing her within close proximity to passing members of the crew.  
  
Though reaching her destination seemed to take far more time than she anticipated, T'Pol finally found herself standing in front of the Chief Engineer's door. She placed her precarious burden on the deck and rang the call button. A beckon answer from inside assured her that the journey had not been in vain. She stepped through the doorway with the discriminator and waited quietly for him to acknowledge her presence.  
  
In the stillness that preceded his greeting, T'Pol quickly surveyed her surroundings. The walls were metallic silver, the same color that adorned the bulkheads of the entire ship. A small glass table lay at the foot of his bed, upon which several interesting trinkets rested, which slowly piqued her curiosity. To her left was a relatively barren corner, save the oddly shaped case, resting on its respective stand. Large plasma screens on two of the walls displayed detailed schematics of the ship, a configuration she would not be opposed to seeing in her own quarters. And finally, beneath a spacious canopy of glass, was Commander Tucker. He appeared to be diligently working as several PADDs were strewn across his desk. And though his back was towards her, he still managed a polite greeting.  
  
"Evenin' Sub-Commander, what can I do you for tonight?" Trip responded.  
  
T'Pol arched a curious eyebrow as she was unable to discern how he knew it was her. Such a talent was usually the parlance of her dominion. Seeing her confusion, Trip took his stylus and began rapping on his chamber window. She followed his direction to her ghostly reflection, draped in the streaking stars of the night. "I have come to return the discriminator you loaned to me," she responded, placing the item back on the ground.  
  
"You know that wasn't necessary, I coulda just sent some of my guys to pick it up," Trip replied, his attention still directed towards his desk. "But I'm glad you stopped by, I've gotta surprise for you. Just gimme a second."  
  
"You forget Commander, I am Vulcan, and do not experience surprise." T'Pol quickly dismissed.  
  
Trip sighed heavily and finally turned his chain slightly towards her. "You know T'Pol, you could humor me every once and a while." She reluctantly complied, returning her attention back towards the small table as she waited patiently for the Chief Engineer.  
  
She wandered over slowly, her eyes combing over the three unusual items. One she was readily familiar, a chess set. She hardly thought the Commander to be one who found entertainment in such a logical game. She was completely befuddled by one of the other items, small and rectangular in shape; its purpose completely indiscernible. But the object that had T'Pol completely enthralled was a glass globe, which from initial appearances contained a small facsimile of a palm tree. She clasped her elegant fingers around its base, raising the trinket to her eyes for closer examination. She noticed a very fine particulate coating the bottom of the glass. Instinctually, she turned the globe upside down and watched the debris slowly fall into the solution, its decent not too dissimilar from that of. . .  
  
"Tacky piece of junk isn't it?" Trip asked, as he made his way to her side, PADD in hand.  
  
"What is 'it' supposed to be?" she inquired, righting the globe in her hand.  
  
"It's a snow globe, a snow globe of Florida to be exact. My sister got it for me as sort of a memento of home," Trip acknowledged.  
  
"I was under the impression that snow between the Tropics of Earth was an unlikely occurrence," T'Pol questioned. Indeed, that was one of the many reasons the Vulcans chose to build their headquarters in San Francisco.  
  
"You're right, it never snows in Florida, but that's the joke. It's supposed to remind me of the holiday season more than anything. You know Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years," Trip elaborated. "Does it ever snow on Vulcan?"  
  
"No, Vulcan is a desert world, even in its polar regions. I did not observe snow until I was assigned to Earth." she replied.  
  
"And what did you think?" Trip asked.  
  
"Of what?"  
  
"Of your first snowfall?"  
  
"I found it to be an inefficient form of precipitant. Because of the freezing temperatures associated with it, the ground is unable to absorb." T'Pol started.  
  
"Nah, I don't want your expert analysis about it. I wanna know what you remembered about that day. How it made you feel?"  
  
"Cold."  
  
"Anything else?" Trip needled once more.  
  
"No." T'Pol relayed; but her memory of that day was as sharp as the chilling wind that raced though the Vulcan Compound.  
  
There had only been a handful of snowstorms ever recorded in San Francisco history. The area was more likely to be stricken by an earthquake. But this was a storm of unnatural origin. They had been advised to stay indoors, as the temperature plummeted below freezing. She recalled how she was stirred from her slumber by the howling gale, how the trees swayed and yielded in the merciless storm as she gazed down upon the courtyard from her window. In her mind's eye she could see the wind suddenly abated and the eerie calm that ensued. Then slowly, they began to fall. How she intently observed the very first snowflakes descend towards the earth. She remembered going out into the courtyard, the tips of her ears screaming from the chill, as the snow coated the ground in virgin white. How she watched conspicuously as other Vulcans ventured outside, all choosing to remain under the cover of the overhang. She could remember her first steps in the new fall, the sound of snow sublimating into water from compression ringing in her ears, like a walk through the shifting desert sands. But she had no intention of making Commander Tucker privy to such a special memory.  
  
"Oh well," Trip sighed. "Anyway here you go," he said, extending her a PADD.  
  
T'Pol replaced the globe back on the table and took the PADD. A cursory overview of the data clued her in on what exactly the surprise was. "You have established a data link from the ship's sensor palette to my quarters," she answered. And while she might not be prone to surprise, she definitely did not believe that he had heard her request in the midst of his delusion, to say nothing of acting on it.  
  
"Yea, it's just kinda my way of saying I'm sorry. You know, for being such an ass to you while we were trying to examine the black hole," Trip said, his eyes darting from place to place.  
  
"You were not in control of your actions," T'Pol countered, as the scent of his nervousness slowly began to permeate to air. 'How could this situation elicit such a response?' T'Pol questioned silently, "but I appreciate the gesture," she continued.  
  
"So, I saw you give my room the once over, what do you think?" Trip asked as he panned his arm across is humble abode, deftly changing the subject.  
  
Though T'Pol found his uncanny sense of perception somewhat unnerving she did have a definite opinion on the subject. She had always believed that one's room was an outward reflection of their personality, an opinion that the Chief Engineer's room clearly violated. "It is not what I envisioned."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"I simply imagined your room to be somewhat more chaotic than this," she admitted reluctantly. "Nor would I have assumed that you played chess."  
  
Trip simply chuckled in response. "Well you know what happens when you assume," he replied, a joke that only confused his Vulcan guest. "Do you play?"  
  
"Yes, I find chess to be an engaging practice on logic and strategy. It is almost as therapeutic as meditating."  
  
"How many people have you played against?" Trip asked, returning to where he left her.  
  
"To date all of my matches have been against the computer," she answered.  
  
"Would you like to change that?"  
  
"Are you offering?" T'Pol rebutted.  
  
"Yep, that little gift was the last item on my to-do list for the day. I was just wondering if you wanted to do something tonight?" he conveyed.  
  
The question caught T'Pol decidedly off guard. Her analysis of the singularity was long since complete and it was far too early in the day to even consider meditation. In essence, she had nothing to do. Unfortunately, her evaluation was inaccurate as she answered him in a very un-Vulcan way: with a yawn.  
  
Trip was completely stunned. He never imagined Vulcans capable yawning, at least not T'Pol. "Or maybe not," Trip stated, his mind slowly contemplating what else Vulcans might be susceptible to. "Why don't you go ahead and call it a night. We can get together some other time."  
  
"You forget Commander, I do not require as much sleep as humans do. And I am quite capable of ascertaining." She began, but was stopped as she yawned once again.  
  
"No, I didn't forget," Trip countered, "but you have been up for four days taking care of tired and cranky humans. Why not treat yourself to a good night of meditation and sleep?"  
  
T'Pol surmised the Commander's words to be quite logical. She obviously had pushed herself rigorously during the last four days, ensuring the safety of her crew. But with the current crisis over, there was no need to continue to ignore her body's pleading for slumber. "I find that I must concede to your wisdom Commander. Goodnight."  
  
"Well, goodnight Sub-Commander, sweet dreams," Trip responded as he watched her turn and key the door open. He waited patiently for her to comment as she crossed the threshold into the passageway, but no such reply was forthcoming. So he chose to simply watch as the weary Vulcan made her way down the corridor, disappearing around the corner. 


	2. Sweet Dreams

To Sleep Perchance to Dream (Chap 2)

By vandiver49 

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters associated with Star Trek, I'm just borrowing them for a moment. Please don't sue; people in the Navy don't make that much money.

I'm trying out a new style of writing, please bear with me. 

BETA'd by stubadingdong

This story takes place after "Singularity" 

_________________________________

Trip turned back into his room, the doors sliding closed behind him. He found himself fighting the yawn that yearned to escape, a contagious consequence courtesy of his late night guest. He walked over to the table that T'Pol had found so curious and retrieved the one item that she failed to take notice of; the harmonica. He grabbed it and plopped himself down on his bed, an Otis Redding classic echoing throughout his cabin as he played himself to sleep. 

***

Monochrome, black and white, headlights beating back the night. Flying through the air? No, driving on the road; through a city. San Francisco? No, too clean. This is dark, dank, grimy, and gothic.

A skyline; a halo on the horizon. What buildings are those? Woolworth, Chrysler, Empire State? That's New York. Aren't there more skyscrapers than that?

"That was a great game; though I must admit I'm still partial to cricket." That clipped slightly condescending accent could only be one person; Malcolm. What is he wearing? That's not Starfleet issue. What's that on his chest? 'To serve and protect'? He's a cop. If he's a cop then what am I…covered in grease oil and dirt. I guess I'm a mechanic. That makes sense.

"Uh oh," he says, peering up at a light in a building. "What did you tell them we were doing?" 

Tell who? "I don't know."

"Bloody hell, they're gonna kill us." Mr. Dramatic at it again. Does he mean that literally or figuratively? Best not to chance it.

"Well, we can just drive around the block."

"Nope, it doesn't matter; your wife heard the car a bloody block away."

'My wife?' Our wives, they're supposed to kill us? What did we do?

"Just pull in right there."

The long walk home; one flight, two flights, three flights, four. Seven additional steps and we're at the front door. It opens; we're expected. I guess he wasn't wrong on that account. Malcolm's looking at me, I know the look. Dead men walking? How bad can it be?

"Malcolm Sterling Reed, where have you been?" Crispness, clarity, punctuated, enunciated; Hoshi. That's funny, they deserve each other. Though, she shouldn't wear her hair in a bun like that, it does nothing for her face. And what in the hell is she wearing? That's the most God-awful dress I think I've ever seen.

"Ummm…working late?" Working late? That's the best lie you can come up with?

"Yea, right. Do the two of you know what we were supposed to do tonight?" 

No, but I'm sure you'll tell us anyway. "Hey, could you at least let us in the door?"

Damn, look at the evil eye she just gave Malcolm. She's seriously contemplating the question. Did we miss our anniversary or something? I'd sure like to know what I did that we are going to get in trouble for.

"Come in," she relents. I pan to the left, pan to the right, still no sign of my wife. "She's in the kitchen." Am I that obvious? 

There she is, in front of the sink, doing the dishes. Almost too easy. I wonder which one of my ex's is playing the lead role of my wife. "Hi honey, I'm home!" I've always wanted to do that.

"Indeed you are." Monotone, staccato…_oh hell no. "So what was the cause of your delay?"_

This just went from a dream to some kind of sick joke. "We were working late?" Hey it's worth a shot. 

"What type of work involves popcorn, alcohol and hot dogs?" 

That nose, those ears. This has gone from bad to worse. Why is she in _my_ dream anyway? "Listen, whatever I did I'm sorry, OK. I'll make it up to you." I'll what?! Who said that?

"You cannot retrieve lost time. I would have thought that our anniversary held more meaning to you than some sporting contest. It appears I was mistaken."

Ouch, that hurts, especially from her. "Look, would you cut me some slack, I'm only human. You know, you could look at me when I'm talking to you. It's kinda hard tryin' to have a conversation with your back."

"I am well aware of your failings, Charles." Even in my dreams, the woman can find a way to annoy me. Finally, she turns around. I can look into her eyes, know what she's thinking. They're narrow, menacing, have I hurt her? Do I care? Not with that snide remark.

"What 'failings' are you referring to?" I'm not going to feel sorrow in my own dream.

"Your failings as a husband, your failings as a friend, your failings as a mate." Damn, right in the kidneys. Is that a tear in the corner of my eye? How dare she! This is my dream!

Why you little… "One of these days T'Pol, one of these days. POW!! Right to the moon!" Well that was vindicating.

"I doubt you have sufficient strength to knock me down; to speak nothing of your inability to 'knock' me into lunar orbit." 

A buzzer goes off. It's the timer on the oven. What the hell would she be cooking in an oven? Who cares, as long as it gets her to shut up.

"Furthermore, during the past four years of our union, you have made that same threat 173 times and have never made good on it. Why do you find it necessary to threaten me with bodily harm when you have no intent…" 

Spare me. I can't listen to that infernal racket anymore, either of them. "Fine, OK, I get the point. Just could you please just turn the timer off?"

"No, you turn it off."

Why you little conceited… "Excuse me, but it's _your_ cooking!"

"Quite correct, but the noise is emanating from _your_ alarm."

My alarm. 

My alarm? 

Damn!!!

***

Trip snapped up in his bed, startled back to consciousness by the audible intrusion. He stroked his temples and winced at the slight discomfort; the unmistakable signs of an impending headache. He reluctantly rolled over and glanced at his chronometer, praying it had gone off prematurely; that there were a couple of hours left until his watch. He wouldn't be so lucky.

"0600. You've got to be kiddin' me." He bemoaned, reluctantly tearing himself away from his rack. He trudged over to the bathroom and ran the hot water of his sink, preparing his razor to scrape away to subtle stubble he had accumulated during the night. As fog crept up the mirror from the steam, Trip slowly began to recall the bits and pieces of the dream that held his subconscious hostage during the night. The revelation left Trip consumed with a singular question as he struggled to get ready for the day. A question he scrawled into the gathering condensation; W T F.

_And meanwhile, on the other side of the ship…_

T'Pol arrived back at her quarters in short order, keeping the illumination to a low dim as she entered. She found herself slightly disturbed by her open display of exhaustion. She was capable of infinitely more control, of more discipline. '_Except around Commander Tucker.' _ As she slowly peeled out of her uniform, T'Pol couldn't help but contemplate the words of her former mentor. _"Perhaps it is time for you to consider another assignment." _ Had she really become that corrupted by her time on Enterprise? It was a question whose answer could only be discerned through proper meditation. Changing into her pajamas, she retrieved a candle from a shelf and planted herself on the floor. She calmed her breathing as she focused her attention on the flickering flame. The systematic organization of thought, the conscience suppression of emotion, the dutiful elimination of stress; all comprised the normal routine of her mental cleansing. None of which happened as her mind succumbed to something far more relaxing; sleep.

* * *

3.1415926535…

2.7182818284…

The arches of my eyebrows are slightly askew.

1.6180339887…

But the hues of my cheeks are…perfect.

A perfect symmetry. A reflection of self. Perfect reflections upon a mirror. A mane of flowing ash supplants my perfectly cropped locks. Hair that must be braided and coiled just so atop my crown. Attention to detail is necessary if I hope to achieve the air of perfection that is required of me. _Is this what happens to a dream deferred?_

"Lady T'Pol, attend me." 

A beckoning call. My mate requires me. I hear his footsteps from afar. I turn to face him; I look up as he is tall, his eyes are dark and foreboding. His hair is as black as night, straight and cut to precision. He is the picture of Vulcan beauty, any Vulcan woman would be…'pleased' to call this man theirs; _except me._

His two fingers are extending, awaiting mine in return. A gesture so curiously innocent, yet distinctly intimate. I do as expected, and respond in kind, bracing myself for the torrent of emotions normally brought forth by the tactile response. But there is nothing, no thoughts, no voices, no emotions, no love. _Why does that disappoint me?_

"Come, my t'hyla. We have company."

'His t'hyla', a misnomer at best. I sense he has no affection for me, but we are bonded nonetheless. I follow him through our domicile, a stately abode in size, but sterile in color and décor. 'Perhaps a terra cotta would compliment these beige walls nicely.' We arrive in the parlor, where our guests are waiting. 

"Ambassador Soval, Ambassador V'Lar, how may my wife and I be of service?" My husband asks.

"We are here at the behest of the Vulcan Science Directorate," Soval begins, his words cold and emotionless. "New discoveries by the Directorate suggest that time travel may not be as inviolate as once believed. Your wife filed several reports while she was assigned to the _Enterprise that lay credence to these claims." he explains to my husband._

"Sub-Commander, we require your assistance in the study of this phenomenon. Your first-hand experience would be an invaluable addition to our study," V'Lar elaborates.

Though I don't believe in time travel, I relish the opportunity to satiate my curiosity, to immerse myself in the purity of knowledge, and the pursuit thereof. 

I prepare to express what could be misconstrued as adulation towards the prospect of working on this assignment, but I am suddenly gripped by a feeling of restraint and uncertainty. I turn toward my fingers, still connected with those of my mate. The feelings are his. 

"I am sorry Ambassadors, but _Lady_ T'Pol will be unable to assist you in your endeavors. She is no longer a practicing scientist." He says in my stead, as is his right to. _Am I to shiver up and die like I raisin in the sun? _

* * *

T'Pol's eyes blinked open instantly, only to find herself strew across the deck of her cabin, the flame of her candle tucked away behind a curtain of wax. Patiently waiting for her mind to come into focus, she pulled herself off the ground, disappointed that her meditation was unsuccessful. She immediately realized the price for her transgression, as the memories of her dream slowly permeated her mind. But unlike the last time she dreamt, this one had an overwhelming feeling of…sadness.

TBC…

________________

for those of you curious about the those non-terminating numbers rattling around in T'Pol's head, the first one is of course ∏, the second is the natural log number _e, _and the final one is Φ; commonly referred to as the Golden Ratio.


End file.
